A Small Celebration – A Poem by Rowe Williams

A singular piece of confetti
flutters, lonely, to the ground.
A premature party, colleagues unready.

Gaily it twisted, turned around,
flips and tumbles unique.
So alone, I found.

Falling from so high a peak;
so high, so far down.
To an end so bleak.

To my eyes, it wore a crown,
its very own, quite small.
No flecks around it, no fracas to drown.

A lonely fall.
To be unnoticed, and distinguished,
or spectacular and extinguished.

A singular piece of confetti
flutters, lonely, to the ground.